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Monday, December 29, 2014

As another year winds down, I find
myself reflecting on the past year, and the years before that, and how I’ve
arrived at this time and place. Have you ever stopped to ponder the small
events that shape our entire lives? The
positive influences: a chance meeting, an unusual connection, making the right
choice, joy, success, birth, and random acts of kindness. Life isn’t all smooth
traveling. We have negative forces at work: accidents, disease, heartbreak,
betrayal, deceit, failure, and death.

Everything that happens in life
shapes who we are. The choices we make determine the quality of our very
existence.

This year the broken road has
climbed some high peaks and traversed through some deep valleys. I’ve lost
loved ones this year. Most recently a cousin to a lingering illness, a niece to
an unexpected death, and today my sister-in-law’s mother died from Alzheimer’s
disease.

Life is tainted with a special type
of sadness when a loved one is afflicted with dementia. Even with our small
successes in Alzheimer’s legislation, this awful disease is still without a
cure or effective treatment.

Alzheimer’s changed the course of my
life. It took away the man I’d shared my life with, changed the color of the
sky, and the taste of the air. It left a hole in my universe. Snapped away all
my plans and dreams and left me with a different destiny.

It’s hard to believe that Jim died
nearly ten years ago. I’m still sorting through a lifetime of mementos, and my
heart breaks when I find one of Jim’s favorite shirts, a guitar pick, an old
pair of glasses, an outdated drivers license—things that he once touched, used,
or cherished. Old pictures memorialize slices of our lives, and stacks of
videotapes provide a record of vacations, jam sessions, or a mundane day with a
conversation long forgotten. The loss ambushes me from time to time.

But just like others who lost loved
ones, I found more strength than I ever suspected lurked within me. Basically,
when life crumbles, you have two choices: quit or move on. I like to say that
I’m not a quitter so the second choice was a natural one for me. I conquer
another piece of the broken road. Life goes on and life can be so good, sweet
with many more smiles than tears.

I had some major life changes this
year—retirement, marriage, living in a different home, publishing two books,
and watching time blur by and recede into the past. I have much to be thankful
for as most of my family keeps on keeping on without missing too many beats.

When I think about life and all the
“stuff” I’ve accumulated—toys, possessions, collections—it becomes clear that
the important things in life can’t be bought. It is the intangibles that make
life worth living: attitude, love, happiness, faith, hope, family, health…

To move forward in life, I can’t
keep looking back at what once was, but must anticipate what is yet to be.
After all, everything that happened along the broken road is imbedded in my
memories, and seeped into my DNA. I’m comfortable with who I am and where I am
at this stage of my life.

Today at the post office I saw a
former co-worker. In fact, he was picking up the company mail. “Looks like
retirement suits you,” he said.

“I love it!” I agreed. There’s
something totally liberating about choosing what to do and when to do it. Oh, sure,
I still have commitments and appointments that I keep, but most of my day is
what I choose it to be.

“What are your plans for today,”
Harold often asks me when we first wake up. He is a planner, I’m a seat of the
pants type of person.

“I plan to drink this cup of coffee,”
I say.

“Then what?”

“Drink another cup.” One thing I
know—until I’ve had my coffee, I don’t want to think about the day beyond this
moment, much less plan it. Besides, instead of spending time and energy to make
plans, I’d rather be moving on down the road toward my destiny.

Monday, December 22, 2014

I’m an optimistic person and would
classify myself as happy—at least most of the time. Yet some days you get an early
morning phone call that seems to just make the earth tilt a little different. I
got one of those phone calls Friday morning.

I turn my phone’s sound off at night
because the whistling, dinging, and notifications interfere with my sleep. Once
I discovered the alarm still rang with the sound off, I just automatically turn
it off at night. So when I heard the phone buzz, I picked it up trying to
figure out why my alarm was silent. It wasn’t the alarm malfunctioning, it was
a phone call from my son with bad news.

My forty-seven year old niece
Krystal had passed away in the early morning hours. Shocking, unexpected news.
Devastating news. The kind of news that can suck the air from your lungs. A
cherished family member gone. Just gone. Forever from Earth.

My sorrow at losing a beloved niece
cannot even compare to the crushing blow this was for her parents, husband,
children, siblings, grandchildren, and those privileged to be in her inner
circle. It was a big circle because Krystal had a loving heart and a gentle
nature.

Today was her funeral. Three days
before Christmas, and what? The hap- happiest time of the year? No. Hundreds of
people gathered together to remember Krystal, honor Krystal, and to lay her to
rest.

As the photos on the PowerPoint transitioned, we saw Krystal as a little girl, a teen-ager with big hair, in a beautiful white dress on her wedding day, cuddling her baby, with her family, turn around, turn around. Krystal with her little smile, sparkling eyes, and quiet sense of humor. I had watched her grow up in real time and the photos were fast-forwarding through the years.

When most people can’t find time to
join one church, Krystal belonged to two. One a traditional Lutheran Church and
the other a more modern non-denominational church. Both pastors, one
traditional, and the other quite unconventional both spoke of the woman they
had grown to depend on and cherish.

After words of comfort and prayers,
we queued up with a long line of cars to go to the cemetery for the interment. After
the long drive, we huddled beneath umbrellas as the rain began in earnest,
shoes sinking into the soft earth. We shared umbrellas, coats, hugs, and sorrow
as the rain beat down and we prayed the Lord’s Prayer.

We went inside the church to share a
meal and comfort each other. To share the sorrow. As I talked to Mike, he said,
“You know what it’s like, Aunt Linda.” I do know what it’s like to lose a
beloved spouse. It’s like losing part of yourself. An unfillable void. “There
are no words,” he said. I couldn’t agree more.

I know the pain of losing a parent,
and the crushing blow of losing a brother. I do not, thank God, know what it is
like to lose a child. We all want our children to outlive us. I can’t even
imagine the heartache a parent feels at a time like this.

There’s no amount of optimism that
can take away the sadness. Even a belief that those who have gone before us are
rejoicing in Krystal’s rebirth, she’s not here with us. We sure would have
liked to have kept her a whole lot longer.

Some days are just sad, and the rain
keeps falling. There are no words.

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI, to
most of us) is a way to use your own body composition to analyze what’s going
on inside you. A strong magnetic field aligns the hydrogen protons in your body
and then radio waves knock them out of their aligned position. I’m not ashamed
to admit that knowing my molecules are being messed with kind of gives me the
heebie-jeebies.

MRIs are a great diagnostic tool and
a way to detect cancer or the brain damage from dementia. When Jim had an MRI,
they had to sedate him because of his claustrophobia. In fact, during one test,
he pushed the panic button, and they took him out of the machine. It was the
results of an MRI that let us know that Jim had brain atrophy.

I recently had an MRI to determine
the cause of numbness in my fingers and pain in my arm. Based on the data
gained from the tests the neurologist ran, the culprit seemed to be in my
spine. The best way to look at it—an MRI. Surely, that couldn’t be as bad as
needles poked into me at random places.

This was my second MRI. The first
was about two years ago. I suffer from occasional bouts of vertigo that causes
severe vomiting for the first day or two. I can’t walk without help because I
feel like I’m on a ship caught in the middle of a hurricane. I went to the
emergency room, where they performed an MRI to rule out a brain tumor.
Thankfully, the MRI was negative—or as I described it to my family, “negatory”
on the brain.

I don’t remember much about that MRI
since I was a little out of it. It was a blur. I did remember the part about
not having any metal, so in preparation for the latest MRI, I carefully removed
my earrings and my rings before I left home. When I looked at my hands, I
noticed my glittery metallic nail polish. Could the polish have enough metal in
it to make a difference? I was unsure,
so to be on the safe side, I removed it. The bad thing was the ruby color came
off, but I could still see metallic sparkles on my nails. Suddenly, I became
obsessed with removing it. I did another round of polish remover, but the
sparkles just seemed to shine brighter.

Okay, now what? I have a super-duper
nail buffer that will remove anything. The trouble was, I wasn’t sure where to
find it. It wasn’t in the tray where I keep my polish and other nail
paraphernalia. So the hunt was on. Harold suggested it might be in my travel
bag. Sure enough there it was! With a good buffing, all the metallic glitter
was gone.

At the hospital I changed into a
gown and they got me as comfy as possible on the narrow hard bed as they
readied me to slide me in the tube. “What kind of music do you like?” the tech
asked me.

“Soft rock,” I replied. They plugged
my ears, put a thick cloth over my eyes, and placed the headphones on. They
placed a “panic button” in my hand in case I needed to get someone’s attention.

“Would you like a warm blanket?” she
asked.

“Sure,” I replied.

After I was all situated, they slid
me into the machine and the clanking began. I knew to hold perfectly still
because that was important. I forgot to ask how long it was going to take. I
thought maybe ten or fifteen minutes. I listened to song after song as the
machine clanked and hissed.

Suddenly, I noticed the hair on my
head seemed to be moving. Even my eyelashes were being pulled. I thought about
freaking out when my cheeks felt like they were being lifted, but I held out
pretty well until my nose started itching. It
can’t be much longer, I thought, as another song began. Just then, the
machine sounded different. Whew, must be
winding down. But no, it just seemed to start all over again.

Finally, by the time they pulled me
out, I had stopped being hopeful when the machine quieted down. I didn’t
realize I was out of the machine until they removed the headphones and took the
cloth off my eyes.

“How long did that take?” I asked.

“Oh, about twenty-five or thirty
minutes.” Sometimes it’s better if you don’t know how long something is going
to last.

And to make matters even better for
me, I never read about how my water molecules would be used to create a signal
that would be processed to form an image of my innards. The magnetic coils are
turned on and off which creates the noise of an MRI. The sound of the machine
can be equivalent to a jet engine at take-off, hence the ear protection.

I guess MRI’s are pretty miraculous
and it’s a whole lot better than the exploratory surgery they used to do to
find out what was going on inside. But still, it’s a pretty weird experience
and not one I’d want to do again soon.

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

For many years, I’ve been an
Alzheimer’s volunteer and advocate and have attended the annual Advocacy Forum
in Washington, D.C. for fourteen consecutive years. Because of my advocacy on
the national level, the Greater Missouri Chapter asked me to be an Alzheimer’s
Ambassador, to Congresswoman Vicky Hartzler and I gladly accepted.

Yesterday, I received an email from
Harry Johns, Alzheimer’s Association CEO, sharing good news about Alzheimer’s
legislation. Congress has incorporated the Alzheimer’s Accountability Act into
the Fiscal Year 2015 Omnibus Appropriations Bill. The proposed $25 million
increase in Alzheimer’s research demonstrates our legislators’ focus on finding
a cure for Alzheimer’s disease.

Why is the Accountability Act so
important? It will require the NIH to submit an annual budget to Congress and the
President. This budget will specify the necessary funding to reach our goal of
finding effective treatment or a cure by 2025.

The Accountability Act has been a
top priority for the Alzheimer’s Association and its sister organization,
Alzheimer’s Impact Movement (AIM). My sister, Roberta, and I joined 900 other
advocates to carry the message to Congress last spring during the Advocacy
Forum.

Harry Johns says the bipartisan
effort is a significant step toward winning the fight against Alzheimer’s. He
said, “It demonstrates that our relentless efforts working together across our
nationwide organization—including our dedicated Ambassadors and our hundreds of
thousands of advocates—to make ending Alzheimer’s a national priority are
making a real difference.”

Alzheimer’s is the most expensive
disease in America and the cost will skyrocket as the baby boomers age. In
2014, the cost of Alzheimer’s will reach $214 billion, including $150 billion
to Medicare and Medicaid. In contrast to the cost of the disease, only 0.25% of
this total is committed to research—our only hope to end this human and
financial crisis.

I have been fortunate to help in the
effort to increase research funding for a disease that affects more than five
million Americans and their families. We are gaining momentum and it is
imperative that we relentlessly advocate until this devastating disease is
eradicated.

Friday, December 5, 2014

The far-reaching scope of Alzheimer’s disease is
almost impossible to comprehend unless someone close to you develops the
disease. Once you have come face to face with this merciless foe, you recognize
the signs and symptoms even in complete strangers.

Several years ago I was at an
enormous craft festival when I bumped into a middle-aged man who had a lost
look in his eyes. In fact, he was
lost, and I instantly knew why. Before long, his brother found him. He saw me standing there and said, “My brother has Alzheimer’s.” I just nodded. He
knew that I knew.

Knowing and understanding
Alzheimer’s doesn’t have a lot to do with age. My grandchildren have always
understood the devastation and gaping hole that dementia leaves in its wake.
Some of their memories of their Grandpa Jim are hazy. Our youngest grandchild
knows his grandpa only from stories and pictures.

When one person has dementia, it
touches the entire family. My sister, sister-in-law, nieces, and grand-nieces
have been dedicated fundraisers for Alzheimer’s. We hold an annual traffic
stop, and we stand in the heat, rain, or whatever Mother Nature throws at us.
We smile, wave, and thank passersby as we collect for Jim’s Team.

One of the nieces that helps us fund raise each
year is Taylor. Recently, my niece Rachel shared a poem her daughter,
Taylor, had written about Alzheimer’s. The poem was originally published in Accolades, the student poetry
collection. Taylor gave me permission to share this poem on my blog.

Where’s My Memory?

by
Taylor Osman

Who
are you?

I
look and think.

Where’s
my memory?

I
should know you, but I don’t.

You’re
in my heart, but not my mind.

I see
and feel your warmth.

I
know you just for a split second.

Wait,
the thought is gone.

Who
are you?

Where’s
my memory?

Why
is it like this?

A
tear runs down my cheek.

What
is this for?

I
have to know, but I just don’t.

Remind
me again, who are you?

Where’s
my memory?

My
memory is fading away.

I
have it one minute, but then it’s gone.

Where
is my memory?

Dedicated to all the people battling
Alzheimer’s

So what is it exactly that makes
some people understand Alzheimer’s when others never seem to get it? Taylor
gives us the key to understanding in the lines, “You’re in my heart, but not my
mind. I see and feel your warmth.”

When you understand that the heart
will remember what the mind forgets, you realize how important it is to spend
quality time with your loved ones who have dementia or Alzheimer’s. Your warmth
and hugs express your love even when your loved one does not remember your name,
or understand your words. Those
split-second moments of clarity when you open your heart are far too precious
to miss.

Copyright (c) December 2014 by L.S.
Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Click on the purple badge or this
link to vote for Early Onset Alzheimer’s Blog

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

November is Caregivers Month, and I thought it was a good time to share my caregiver story.

I was eighteen years old when Jim and I were married in
Honolulu, Hawaii. He was on R&R from Vietnam, and I was on Christmas break
after two semesters of college.

We struggled financially for many years. Entertainment was hamburgers
at Griffs, an occasional drive-in movie, jam sessions, fishing, camping, or
traveling in one of our old vans and sleeping at rest areas. We were short on
money, but took pride in paying our bills and putting a little aside.

Jim was always there for me. He was my strength, my
companion, and my best friend. Jim had bouts of depression, and I worried about
him. Our marriage never wavered; our love for each other was never in doubt.

We finally gained financial security and built our home.
Just as we thought life was going to be easier for us, Jim began to have
cognitive glitches shortly after he turned forty-nine. His forgetfulness didn’t
seem as strange as his loss of mechanical skills. The man who once fixed our
van with a piece of baling wire, couldn’t change the oil.

For years, we had gone to bed an hour early and read. It was
our quiet time, our time together. Jim lost his ability to read. He became
eccentric in the way he dressed, and compulsive about taping every program on
TV.

By the time he was diagnosed, I realized the Jim I had loved
for twenty-five years was turning into a different person. The man who had
always been protective of me and so aware of my needs, began to turn inward.
Surely there was a simple explanation—a stroke, a vitamin deficiency,
depression. The day the doctor told us that tests results showed Jim had
dementia, I asked, “What could cause that?” The answer was shocking: dementia
of the Alzheimer’s type.

We knew that whatever happened, we were in this together. We
cried for hours as we faced the new reality. We were not satisfied until tests
exhausted all other plausible possibilities. Somewhere along the line, I
realized that I was going to have to get a grip on the grief and make some
sense out of this tragedy.

My first step in the right direction was to learn as much as
I could about Alzheimer’s and caregiving. Knowledge became power and helped
bolster my confidence. I took caregiving classes, read numerous books, watched
documentaries about Alzheimer’s.

I became an Alzheimer’s Association volunteer and
advocate—first locally and then nationally. Most people thought I was crazy to
take on volunteer work when caregiving took so much of my time. Jim only slept
about four hours a night and I spent a lot of my sleepless nights working on
Memory Walk, or writing letters to my legislators or to the editor of the local
paper. Alzheimer’s made me feel out of control, and being a volunteer gave me a
purpose and direction at a time when I desperately needed it.

Jim wandered off constantly and to keep him safe, I put him
in a long-term care facility. My caregiving did not end when he went into the
facility. I was comfortable bathing Jim, providing his personal care, feeding
him, and watching TV with him. We would stop at Dairy Queen, go to the park or
just drive around.

Aphasia made Jim silent, but that also meant he was a good
listener. Sometimes a sparkle in his eyes let me know that he understood at
least part of what I told him.

Jim had more company than anyone else in the facility. Our
sons and extended family made sure he had a steady stream of loved ones to
check in on him and spend time with him. Throughout the ten years of Jim’s
dementia, we learned to cope and adapt to the myriad of changes Jim went
through. The one constant that never changed was our unconditional love for
Jim.

I lived life in the present without looking back to what he
had been because it made me sad. I learned to not think too much about the road
ahead or I would worry about what was coming. I could hug him close and kiss
him. I could place my head on his chest and hear the irregular beat that was
so distinctly Jim’s heart.

Jim left this world in 2005, and I miss him still. I miss
the youthful Jim, and even more, I miss the Jim he would have been in old age.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Today is Veterans Day, formerly
known as Armistice Day. In 1919, President Wilson established November 11 as
the day to remember our veterans with these words: “To us in America, the reflections of
Armistice Day will be filled with solemn pride in the heroism of those who died
in the country’s service and with gratitude for the victory, both because of
the thing from which it has freed us and because of the opportunity it has
given America to show her sympathy with peace and justice in the councils of
the nations…”

In 1968, the Uniform Holiday Bill
moved Veterans Day so that it became part of a three-day weekend. But unlike
other holidays, the significance of the 11th hour of the 11th
month was not to be deferred to a three-day weekend. After three years of total
confusion, President Ford wisely decided that tradition of this patriotic pride
should be returned to its original date. On October 25, 1971, he returned it to
November 11 regardless of the day of week.

We dedicate this one day to honor
those who served our country. We honor them for their sacrifice.

My dad fought in World War II. He
often talked about how soldiers were drafted for “the duration.” What a scary
thought that must have been. They were shipped off to war with no idea of when
they would come home, or if they would come home. World War II had 297 deaths
per day. A total of 405,399 American soldiers died in this war. This entire
country was vested in that war. Everyone sacrificed and did their part. People
were given rationing stamps for everything from tires to food. Manufacturing of
automobiles and home appliances were stopped. And racing fans—all auto racing
was banned, including the Indianapolis 500 for the duration of the war.

Jim Fisher, my brother Tommy, and
nine percent of their generation served in Vietnam. Jim served nearly a year,
and my brother Tommy came home after three months when he was wounded.

Jim’s wounds were harder to see. He
was wounded in spirit and had an untreated cervical spine injury. A total of
2,709,918 were sent to Vietnam and 58,202 died. Sixty-one percent of them were twenty-one years old or younger. Five of
them were sixteen years old.

Unlike previous World War veterans,
Vietnam veterans did not see a hero’s homecoming. They came back individually.
Some were lovingly met by family members, others came home to be spit on and
called “baby killers.” Jim never forgave “Hanoi Jane” and was thoroughly
disgusted with Hollywood’s portrayal of “crazed” Vietnam veteran killers in TV
shows and movies. He suffered from PTSD,
and I can’t help but wonder what part the aftermath of Vietnam played in his
early-onset dementia.

Many Americans reap the benefits of
our country without personal sacrifice, and it seems that disparaging our
government has become the norm. We whine about how awful things have become and
borrow trouble on a daily basis. We have split this country along party lines
rather than being united in the common good. We’re too busy placing blame for
what goes wrong and taking credit for what goes right. We salute the flag with
our hands over our hearts, but too many hearts don’t believe in the United
States of America. We take freedom for granted, and by doing so, we are
figuratively slapping our veterans’ faces.

Today, November 11, is a day to not only
honor our veterans, but also to truly appreciate them. Going to war to preserve
our freedom to complain, whine, and gripe is not a small feat. It involves
sacrifice, dedication, bravery, and often leaves scars externally and/or
internally.

Today would be a good time to count
blessings and be thankful for the freedom we have here in the United States. It
is an opportunity to be grateful, truly grateful. Veterans Day is one day to find
every veteran you know and say, “Thank you for your service.”

Sunday, October 26, 2014

The ghosts and goblins of All Hallows’
Eve are lurking in the dark ready to jump out from behind that old dead tree to
send shivers of fright down our spines. Since we associate Halloween with scary
beings that go bump in the night, it is a good time to talk about what
frightens us.

The scene is set for me to talk
about the things that scare us. As I sit in my office working on this article,
the wind howls around the corner of the house and branches scrape against the
window. In fact, the unusual sounds are downright creepy.

Although some of the surveys show
slightly different results, I’m going to hone in on ten common fears.

Things that go BOOM in the night. A lot of folks are scared of storms. Thunder
and lightning can shake up the best of us. Throw in a tornado warning complete with
a heart-stopping siren, and you can create panic. I used to be terrified of
storms, but somewhere along the line, I just learned to respect them and find a
safe spot if possible.

Dark and spooky nights. No wonder the cliché
for the beginning of a story is “It was a dark and stormy night.” Two fears
rolled into one. The dark is the most common fear of children. I think that’s
because when its dark, you can’t see the monsters in the closet. And you can’t
go trick or treating until after dark…

Creepy Crawlers. Let’s face it. Spiders
are mean little critters that can give you the kiss of death before you can say
“Granddaddy Longlegs.” They all scare me…black widows, tarantulas, or brown
recluse…and the only good spider is one that I see first because it will become
a ghost spider.

Slithering Sneaky Snakes. I never saw a snake that I liked. A few weeks
ago, I was at a wedding rehearsal dinner where Sedalia’s own “Snake Lady” dressed
up as a witch and brought one of her pet snakes in a caldron. Fortunately, I was
sitting at the back of the room. Needless to say, I wasn’t one of the people
who let the snake slither around my arms.

Crash and burn. If you are afraid of flying, you have lots
of company. As many as twenty-five million people are nervous flyers. I don’t
think they are so much afraid of flying as they are crashing.

Hitchcock’s Vertigo. I have a love/hate
relationship with heights. I love looking at scenery far below, but I can freak
out if I get too close to a canyon. The spinning sensation makes me feel that I’m
just going to topple over the edge, plunging to my death far below.

Hell Hounds. I’ve never really been scared
of dogs in general, but I’ve had a couple of close encounters. One time I was
handing out some literature door-to-door for a local organization. At one
house, I knocked, but no one was home. As I started back to the car, a German shepherd
wedged himself between me and the car. I talked really nice to the dog as I
slowly backed around him, never turning my back. “Nice doggy. Aren’t you a
pretty boy? Are you having a good day, little doggie?”

Coffin Claustrophobia. Nobody likes to
feel like they are in a tight spot where the air is hard to breathe. I’ve known
fearless men who would climb a high wire or chase storms, but put them on an
elevator and their knees began to knock.

Evil Drilling Dentist. Some people
treat the dentist like he’s Dr. Frankenstein and they expect him to drill right
through a tooth and into the brain while laughing manically.

Mice and Rats. Yep. Rats are pretty
scary if they wind up in bed with you. That happened to me while staying at a
very nice resort in Mexico. Not one of my more restful nights. But still,
better a rat touching my hair than a ghost.

I don’t know why, but ghosts didn’t
make the list. I’ve had a few experiences in my life that would be classified
as supernatural. I’ll save those stories for another time. In the meantime, I’ll
wish you a spooky, spine-chilling Halloween.

Friday, October 17, 2014

Often, what we get out of life
depends on how we look at things. These last few weeks of rain began to get on
my nerves. The grass is growing and the tree that came down in the storm needs
to be hauled off. Except the yard is soggy from all the rain, so it all has to
wait. This both gets on my nerves, and also is simultaneously a relief. I can
use the time to work on my projects.

While I shivered in the blustery wind and cold rain as I took
the dog out for her morning constitutional, I couldn’t see much good in the
weather. I turned on my computer and my brother Tommy had posted: “Been
shelling chestnuts this morning, now in the lanai enjoying the cool air and a
hot cup of coffee.” The accompanying
photo was peaceful, beautiful, and gave me a new perspective of the incessant
rain.

I drove through town yesterday and
saw that gas had dropped to $2.83. All of a sudden, I noticed my tank was half
empty. As I pumped the gas, I realized that when gas was reaching new highs, I’d
have considered my tank half full and would have passed up the gas station.
It’s all in how you look at things.

When I drove into Walmart’s parking
lot, I noticed my car thermometer showed sixty-six degrees. The sun was shining
brightly so I left my jacket in the car. As I walked toward the door, I noticed
a cold breeze and pulled my thin sweater a little closer. I noticed that
people’s different perspectives of this autumn day varied from a woman wearing
a winter coat to a man clad T-shirt and shorts pushing a cart. They all seemed
more comfortable than I did considering that I was dressed more appropriately
for the weather than either of them.

Perspective affects our big
decisions in life as well as how we react to the small moments that make up our
day. As we plug along from day to day, we can lose sight of the possibility
that the rug can figuratively be pulled out from beneath our feet and we fall
flat on our keister. What happens then depends on us. We can sit on the floor
and cry from the pain, or we can stand up and keep moving forward.

We’ve all seen it, haven’t we? Those amazing people who choose
to refuse to stay down, but instead continue to live life to the fullest. When
life looks the bleakest, they focus on the thin ray of sunshine that breaks
through the gloomy haze.

As my niece, Angie, explained it: clarity. From the moment, she found out that she had colon cancer,
she knew she was terminal. Taking what time she had left, she experienced her
dream wedding and spent quality time with her family, sharing her radiant
smile, love, and hugs.

She shared her thoughts, hopes, happiness, on Facebook. On
November 23, 2012, she wrote: I think we all
know what I’m thankful for. I’m thankful I’m still alive. Alive, to love my
family. Another day to see Reiana smile, hear Madison’s laugh and see Connor’s
beautiful eyes. And most of all to hear my hubby tell what “he thinks” are
funny jokes. BTW, God, thank you for bringing my brother back to me.Occasionally, she spoke of her regrets, sorrow,
and fears, but by far her words reflected her positive perspective on life. She died on December 11, 2012 a short time after her
thirty-ninth birthday.

Alzheimer’s is another disease that
can challenge a positive attitude. It is a disease without a cure or effective
treatment and the only prognosis is death. Upon diagnosis, death isn’t normally
immanent, which makes it more difficult to see the urgency of seizing each
moment of joy. The care partner may be facing ten to twenty years of watching a
disease rob a loved one of his or her memory, communication ability, skills,
and talents. Yet, if you consider the expanse of time, it would be foolish to
allow this disease to steal your happiness.

When Jim was in the early stages of
dementia we were able to travel, spend time with family and friends. We shared
many happy moments and good times. It was a bleak diagnosis, but life went on
for ten more years. Even during the final stages, I loaded Jim into the van for
trips to Dairy Queen or to take a walk in the park. When he couldn’t walk
anymore, I wheeled him around the nursing home or parking lot.

How much you get out of life depends
on how you look at it. Most of us don’t know how much time we have so we assume
we have plenty. Enough that we can spend hours, days, years, or decades without
a thought as to how much time we allow ourselves to sit on our keister and cry
about the unfairness of it all.

Maybe the best thing we could do for
ourselves is to consider how differently we would live if we knew we only had a
short time left. Ask yourself: Who would I want to see? What would I want to
do? How would I want to be remembered? Would that change my perspective?

Friday, October 10, 2014

Each year when I visit Washington,
D.C., to advocate for Alzheimer’s funding, I take my current blog book. This
year I left copies of Garden of Hope
with legislators. I leave these books with the thought that someone might read
it—often a legislative aide—but seldom believe that the representative or
senator will read the book.

I am an Alzheimer’s Ambassador for
my representative, but due to a scheduling snafu, I did not get to meet
personally with Congresswoman Vicky Hartzler. When I arrived at the scheduled time
on my sheet, the Congresswoman was already gone. Her aide assured me that Vicky
had wanted to meet with me and had waited several minutes past the time on her
calendar. So I left the book and my apologies for the misunderstanding.

In early August, I was pleasantly
surprised to receive a handwritten note from Congresswoman Hartzler thanking me
for leaving her a copy of Garden of Hope.
She wrote, “What a wonderful collection of insights into this tragic disease
plus messages of hope in our fight to eradicate this debilitating illness.” She
ended her note with “Thank you for leading the charge to bring awareness, spur
action, and inspire hope.”

Okay, I’ll admit this was a first! I
had never received a handwritten note from my representative. Then, another
first…A few weeks ago I received a called from a “202” area code—Washington,
D.C. When I answered the call, I was speaking to Adreine from Congresswoman
Hartzler’s office. Adreine wanted to set up an appointment for the
Congresswoman and me to meet for coffee on October 9. We agreed that I would
meet her in the lobby of historic Bothwell Hotel and we would have coffee in
the hotel’s restaurant, Ivory Grille.

On Thursday afternoon I arrived at
Bothwell Hotel to find Vicky sitting in the lobby. We shook hands and she asked
if I’d like to go somewhere else since the restaurant was closed for the
afternoon. We decided to have our meeting in the lobby instead.

She talked about her morning at
State Fair Community College where she spoke at a teen leadership summit. After
our visit she was going to visit the Boys and Girls Club.

For the next forty-five minutes, we
talked about Alzheimer’s disease and its impact on families. I had brought fact
sheets that served to remind us how many Americans know the heartbreak of Alzheimer’s.
There it was in purple, black, and white:

·More than five million Americans have Alzheimer’s

·Every 67 seconds someone in the U.S. develops
Alzheimer’s

·Alzheimer’s is the sixth leading cause of death
in the United States

·Fifteen million Americans provide unpaid care
for a person with Alzheimer’s

·In 2014 the total cost of Alzheimer’s will be
$214 billion—$150 billion to Medicare and Medicaid

·0.25% of the cost of Alzheimer’s is being spent
on research

·Approximately 500,000 people die each year
because they have Alzheimer’s

We talked of the frustration of how
a mere 1.7% of the NIH’s budget goes toward Alzheimer’s research. I thanked the
Congresswoman for being a co-sponsor of the Alzheimer’s Accountability

Act and for her unwavering support
for Alzheimer’s research.

We shared our personal experiences.
Talked of nursing homes, caregiving, and recognizing that a person with
Alzheimer’s is a person first. Someone to love, and to find joy in his or her moments
of clarity or humor.

We ended on a high note. I gave her
a handout of what we are doing in Sedalia: Photos of our successful Walk to End
Alzheimer’s and information about our local support group facilitated by Betty
Hopkins.

Our meeting began with a handshake
and ended with a hug. The Congresswoman and I are united in this battle against
Alzheimer’s and for a world without it.

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

For the past few days, I’ve been immersed
in reading mystery stories for an anthology. A good mystery writer sprinkles
clues throughout the entire story and then at the end it all makes sense.
Sometimes you slap your head and believe you should have figured it out, and
other times, you are completely surprised. It depends on the skill of the
storyteller and how attentive you are.

I guess our greatest mystery in life
is life itself. It seems that clues pop up every day in our relationships and
our health. If we ignore those clues, or just don’t “get it” life can move
forward while we are oblivious to what is happening.

Most of us fear the unknown. No
matter how dire the diagnosis or prognosis, we realize that we have two
choices: give up and be miserable, or live life to the fullest choosing quality
over quantity if necessary.

Almost every disease has warning
signs—and have you noticed that it is usually ten? Alzheimer’s is one that has
narrowed the multitude of clues to a manageable ten. I’ve taken a look at the
ten to see what the clues have to tell me.

The
number one warning sign of Alzheimer’s is memory loss that disrupts daily life.
We all forget things. Last month I showed up at the hair salon for my
appointment a few minutes early so I sat down and started reading a magazine.
My hairdresser came back from lunch and began to leaf through the appointment
book. “Linda, I have your appointment down for tomorrow,” she said. Sure
enough, I checked my calendar and there it was, same time, same place, wrong
day. That interrupted that day a little for her and me, but it isn’t a warning
sign of Alzheimer’s. Occasionally forgetting appointments is normal. Whew!

The
second warning sign is challenges in planning or solving problems. I had a
nightmare about this a few nights ago. I dreamed I was taking a test and it
used two words in questions that I didn’t recognize. How was I supposed to
answer a question if I didn’t understand the words? Well, when I awoke in the
middle of the night, I Googled paradigm
(pattern) and esoteric (cryptic). The
strange thing is that although I couldn’t place the meaning immediately, they
made sense when I inserted them into the problems. With Alzheimer’s words and
numbers may not make sense which can make solving a problem impossible.

Sign
three is difficulty completing familiar tasks. I run into this often when I
need a password or user name to pay a bill online. Part of the reason is that
to get to the familiar task, I am using a new method. This is normal unless I
forget that I need to pay bills.

The
fourth sign is confusion with time or place. Since I’m retired, the days
and months seem to swirl together. So sometimes I admit to being a little vague
about the day of the week. Thank goodness, my granddaughter plays volleyball so
monitoring her schedule helps me keep track of the days and the date. Oh, and
the place. It really helps to show up at the correct gym.

The
fifth sign is understanding visual images and spatial relationships. This
includes reading and judging distance, both of which can affect driving. We won’t
talk about me getting too close to the curb and scratching my fancy wheels—twice.

Number
six: problems with words in speaking or writing. A person with Alzheimer’s
might have trouble finding the right word…okay, so we all have that trouble
from time to time. Sometimes, I’ll be leafing through my mental dictionary and
can’t seem to come up with the correct word to express an idea. My mental
Google is offline, the “page cannot be found” or is “not available at this time.”
Sometimes it comes to me. Sometimes not. Still, considered to be normal.

The
seventh sign is misplacing things and not being able to retrace steps. Let’s
just say that I’ve had to call my cell phone everyday this week to locate the
darn thing. I can’t remember where I left it. As long as I can remember the
number, I’m considering that a normal sign of aging.

Number
eight is poor judgment. My judgment is normally pretty good, but sometimes
I’ll buy both pair of shoes rather than having to choose. Just saying!

The
ninth sign is withdrawal from work or social activities. I withdrew from
work permanently when I retired at the beginning of the year. I need to
withdraw from a few social activities just because I like to stay at home once
in a while. After all, there’s a new season of The Voice to watch.

The
tenth sign is changes in mood and personality—becoming fearful, depressed,
confused, etc. Okay, I take ownership of being irritable from time to time,
but, hey, that falls within normal range.

After reviewing the ten clues, I
consider myself to be as normal as I’ve ever been. Life is a challenge for each
of us, but as long as we use our strengths to compensate for our weaknesses, we’ll
get by. Whatever the clues say is wrong with us, we always have the ability to
opt for quality over quantity.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

My mind is gravitating from Summer
to Autumn. There are few signs of autumn here in Missouri unless you count Halloween
decorations, corn fields, and maple trees. Grass and most trees are hanging on
tightly to their summery green hues. Temperatures are still hovering around the
70s and 80s—more indicative of summer than fall. Heck, I even managed to get my
worst sunburn of the year yesterday while working in the yard. I wore a
swimsuit top (hate the look of an entire suit!) and a pair of shorts. My formerly
pale back is now fiery red and hot, hot, hot.

Apparently the autumn equinox in the
northern hemisphere, according to Google is either September 21st, 22nd, or 23rd depending on the
source. So, I went with my best source—the Old Farmer’s Almanac, which gives
the date and time as September 22 at 10:29 p.m. Eastern Daylight Savings time.
That makes me understand the discrepancy between the 22nd and 23rd, but not
sure how the 21st fits in.

When autumn is in its full glory, it is a
season hard to beat. Often the retirement years are considered to be the autumn
of life. After working at a day job for years, I’m looking forward to coming
into full and colorful splendor and living a full, and still, productive life.
Most healthy retirees have this same ambition.

Unfortunately, just when we are
hitting our stride all those darn pesky diseases try to interfere.

I could easily break my biggest
concerns down to a few major illnesses that I wouldn’t want to develop—the Big “C”,
heart disease of any kind, or dementia. Our risk of developing any of these
diseases increases with age.

Sometimes, it’s just the luck of the
draw that determines what our future holds in store. Other times, we are our
own worst enemies when it comes to maintaining good health. Most of us fall
somewhere in the middle—luck of genotype and health habits. We all know people
who smoke their entire lives and never develop lung cancer. Yet, smoking is
clearly a risk factor for lung cancer since 80-90 percent of lung cancer is
attributed to smoking.

Although we don’t have such numbers
to indicate this strong connection between smoking and Alzheimer’s, smoking is
considered a “significant” risk for vascular dementia and Alzheimer’s disease. Those especially at risk are people who smoke
heavily between the ages of fifty to sixty.

Smoking is by no means the only culprit
to increase our risk of developing Alzheimer’s—at the top of the list is my
personal nemesis—obesity and sedentary lifestyle. I continue to battle with
weight issues and make an effort to make healthy food choices. And after the
past three days, I’m feeling downright cocky about conquering the sedentary
lifestyle. I’ve been doing yardwork, mowing, lifting and loading brush,
bending, stooping, walking, and more aerobic/weight lifting than I ever accomplished
when I had my gym membership. I don’t see any short-term end to the physical
workout either with all that remains to be done.

To further complicate matters, obesity
and sedentary lifestyles contribute to two other risk factors of Alzheimer’s—hypertension
and diabetes. It’s a catch-22 situation.

In addition to controlling these
risk factors, Maria Carrillo, Alzheimer’s Association vice-president of medical
and scientific relations, adds other helpful ideas to cut the risk of Alzheimer’s.
She said, “Other lifestyle aspects that may contribute to healthy brain aging
are eating a brain-healthy diet, being mentally active, and being socially
engaged.”

The best and safest way to modify
Alzheimer’s risk is to make healthy lifestyle changes: don’t smoke, exercise
your brain and body, control your weight, and become a social butterfly. Is it
easy? Not a chance!

Remember the three dreaded diseases
that cut short the autumn of many, many lives? Well, guess what? Reducing the
risk for cancer, heart disease, or Alzheimer’s slashes the chances of
developing any of them. Sometimes good health can be attributed to genetics,
but more often it requires a personal commitment, determination, and perseverance.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Our Walk to End Alzheimer’s was
Saturday and, as usual, I couldn’t help but be a little nervous about the
weather. We were at the fairgrounds at 6:30 a.m. unloading vehicles, setting up
tables, and trying to figure out the best places to put everything. Before the
8:30 a.m. registration time, we were set up and ready to go.

By walk time, we heard good news
from the registration table—we were very close to our $34,000 goal, and with
the pledges to come in after the walk—we would easily reach that amount. We
handed out trophies to the largest team and the best-fundraising team which
turned out to be the same team—Sylvia G. Thompson Residence Center. Fairview
Nursing Home came in second in fundraising, and Jim’s Team came in third. I
think that as a family team, coming in third is quite an honor.

In addition to the trophies, we
recognized the youngest walker and the one with the most birthdays. This year
it turned out that I was well acquainted with one of them and knew the proud
mama of the other. The youngest “walker” was Catherine, daughter of Jessica and
Brandon Snell. Jessica is a co-chair of the Sedalia Walk. And the guy with the
most birthdays was ninety-year-old John Chambers, better known to be as Uncle
Johnny.

As soon as I came home from the
walk, I faced the reality of having to find a new place to put everything in
the home that I share with my new husband. I knew that the fundraiser and walk
materials that I keep from year to year couldn’t stay in the back of Harold’s
Tahoe forever. So, I went through the supplies and organized them to store on a
shelf in the garage. Easy peasy, you say? Not quite. We had to reorganize the
shelves in order to find a place for my three totes. We wound up with several
trash bags, totes full of recyclable items, bags and boxes for Open Door, and,
of course, there were the things to keep.

Wednesday, we made another trip to my
house to start the monumental task of sorting through forty-five years of
accumulation. The problem for me is that digging through drawers, boxes,
papers, and miscellaneous cubbyholes, storage boxes, and stacks of stacks
amounts to tearing at the heart of memories.

It’s easy for me to decide what to
give to charity. Some items were easy to toss, especially those things I should
never have kept in the first place, or those I’d just never gotten around to
throwing away. But other things—Jim’s belt buckles, his knife, one of his many
pocket watches—okay, those I had to keep. Harold kept pulling things out of
drawers. A phone call to the optometrist settled the issue of Jim’s and my old
eye glasses. Recycle.

Am I the only person that hides a
few secret things in an underwear drawer? Harold tossed an old diary and a few
of Jim’s letters from Vietnam that I managed to keep since 1969. I tossed them
in the “keep” tote.

“What’s this,” he asked.

I looked up to see the yellow
nightie I had taken to Hawaii when Jim and I married. Moment of truth. I
couldn’t wear it anymore. It was old. I certainly wasn’t going to give it to
Open Door for someone else to wear. “Hand it here,” I said. I threw it in the
trash. And started crying.

So, in a few hours we cleaned out
the dresser and chest of drawers. We hauled out several sacks of trash, but I
still have to go through the bags of socks, underwear, pajamas, shirts, shorts,
and odds and ends that would clothe a small nation.

It had been raining most of the day and as soon as the rain let
up we loaded the Tahoe and started down the drive. I told Harold that I felt like I was throwing away
part of my life. “You don’t have to throw away anything,” he said.

“Yes, I do.” I turned my head and
looked out the window as we drove away. The tears came again.

It’s just too easy to accumulate and
so hard to pare it down. I never wanted my kids to have to go
through all my stuff when I’m gone. Yet, in reality, it would be much easier
for them to decide what to throw away and what to keep. They wouldn’t have the
emotional ties that I do and wouldn’t feel so much like they were throwing away a lifetime of memories.

Saturday, August 30, 2014

We are entering Walk to End
Alzheimer’s season, and I challenge you to join the fight against Alzheimer’s
by participating in the Walk to End Alzheimer’s or donating $100 to support someone
who is walking.

I first walked in 1998 with a small
group—a couple from Slater, two people from the Alzheimer’s Association, and from
Sedalia—Jim and me. Oh, let’s not forget the dog, Victoria. That was it, the
Sedalia Memory Walk, 1998.

We are gearing up for Walk season
and chipping away at our Sedalia Walk goal of $34,000. Our walk is one week
from today—September 6. This morning, I went online and donated $100 in honor
of Jim’s birthday. He would have been sixty-nine Wednesday.

Fundraising for a disease is hard
work, and it seems that without a “fun challenge” it’s hard to compete for
charity dollars. Social media has been abuzz about the ice bucket challenge for
ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease). The ice water videos have gone viral, netting $100
million in August for ALS. The movement is still going strong, and is in fact accelerating
and gained over $65 million in one week. I’ve seen videos ranging from my
grandchildren to mega-star celebrities like Dolly Parton.

I have to say that the ALS Association
has been brilliant to latch onto the idea which they credit to Pete Frates, a
29-year-old former Boston College baseball player who was diagnosed with ALS in
2012. The ALS Association sought to trademark the “Ice bucket challenge” but
withdrew the applications after public concern.

Why the heck would the public be
concerned? Well, for one thing, the ice bucket challenge began as a pro athlete’s
stunt giving $100 to a charity of choice. The dousing began with golfer Greg
Norman and motorcycle racer Jeremy McGrath. If you declined the challenge, you
were supposed to give $100 to a charity of your choice.

ALS is a horrible disease and when
the ice bucket challenge turned exclusively to ALS it gained attention and a
huge amount of funding. According to ALS’s
fact sheet 12,000 people in the U.S. have the disease, and my heart goes out to
those who suffer from this debilitating motor neuron disease.

Let’s shift to ALZ (Alzheimer’s). We
weren’t clever enough to latch onto the ice bucket challenge. Our premier
fundraiser is the Walk to End Alzheimer’s. Our 600 Walks nationwide support more
than five million Americans with Alzheimer’s. Nearly everyone you meet has lost
a beloved relative or friend to this fatal disease. As we age, our chances of
developing the disease increases to nearly fifty-percent. Every single one of
us has a stake in finding a cure for Alzheimer’s and related dementias.

So my challenge to all my family and
friends is not to douse yourself with ice water, but to put on walking shoes
and head to the nearest Walk to End Alzheimer’s. If you can’t participate in a
walk, donate $100 to your local Walk, and then challenge five friends to Walk
or donate $100. It is easy to donate online at www.alz.org/walk!

Okay, so I realize that isn’t nearly
as much fun as watching someone get drenched with a bucket of ice water, but Alzheimer’s
is a scary disease and without a cure, it will become even scarier in the next
twenty years as we baby boomers age. So consider yourself challenged, and share
the opportunity to End Alzheimer’s Now!

Sunday, August 24, 2014

A few days ago, I came across a saying that
really struck home with me: “Life is short, live it. Love is rare, grab it.
Anger is bad, dump it. Fear is awful, face it. Memories are sweet, cherish it.”
The person who came up with these words of wisdom is unknown, but it could be
the story of my life, and perhaps yours.

When I was young, I thought life
flowed forward with countless days of sunshine. I had that invincible conviction
so common to the young. Eventually, I found out how short life was as the hard
hand of death entered my life. Schoolmates died from terminal diseases when I
was young. In early adulthood, the terminators included drug overdoses and car
wrecks.

I also learned at an early age how
rare true love is. Of course, I had my heart broken a few times, but when Jim
entered my life, it was an entirely different experience. I found out what it meant to
love and be loved without reservation, fearlessly, and with all my heart. Then,
love blossomed with the birth of our sons, and later when our grandchildren
were born.

Jim and I faced the world together,
united. I had his back, and he always had mine. He was my protector, my best
friend, and my love. When dementia struck, we faced the awful fear of the
unknown along with the predictable outcome of the known. When Jim died, I was
reminded of the shortness of life, the heartbreak of love lost, and the empty
spot that replaced the part of myself that died.

I’ve never been a person to wallow
in self-pity so I dumped the anger and began to pick up the pieces. I found
happiness with my family and friends. I kept busy—oh, my, have I ever kept
busy. My life became full and rich again.

That rare emotion, love, entered my
life again, and I said “yes” to grabbing it. On Saturday, August 16, I took the
final step to make my life complete when I married my longtime best friend,
Harold.

My sons walking me down the aisle

We started our married life with a
lovely ceremony surrounded by family. While honeymooning in Branson, we stopped
at a scenic overlook. I offered to take a photo of two couples, older and
younger. They offered to take a picture of us. When Harold retrieved our
camera, he told them we had just married the day before. “Oh, are you going to
start a family?” he asked Harold.

“We already have grandchildren,”
Harold replied.

An only child, never married, Harold
has inherited an instant, large family. My mom and I were talking about the
change in his status recently. “I hope the shock doesn’t kill him,” she joked.

Sure, being married again is going
to require adjustments for me. I still find it hard to think of Jim as “my
first husband.” I’ll no longer have all the personal time that I’ve had in the
past. And I’ll no longer have sole possession of the TV remote control. We have
a few conflicts with what we record on our DVR’s—after all I don’t want to give
up American Idol or The Voice.

In the big scheme of things, those
are just minor adjustments. The major benefits of our marriage far outweigh the
drawbacks. I now have someone to love—and he’ll always have my back, and I’ll
have his. We have good times together, whether it’s working on a project,
traveling, visiting family, watching TV, or sitting on the deck, drinking
coffee, and playing with our dog Lucy.

Unity Sand Ceremony

Harold and I have joined hands to
make one heart. During the unity sand ceremony on our wedding day, Pastor
Burton said, “As these containers of sand are poured together, the individual
containers will no longer exist, but will be joined as one. Just as these sands
can never be separated and poured again into the individual containers, so will
your marriage be a molding of two individual personalities, bonded together
forming one heart, one love.”

What can I say? Life is good. I’ve
been lucky in love, twice.

When I look back on my life thus
far, I have a treasure chest of sweet memories stored in my brain. I appreciate
the value of life, and love, and look forward to creating many more special
moments.

Sunday, August 10, 2014

What’s not to love about bright sunshiny
summer days? Here it is summer and some of us have been soaking up the rays
whether at the beach, the backyard, or while gardening. When ultraviolet rays
shine on our skin, it triggers a vitamin D synthesis.

When I was growing up, we did not
have an air conditioner at home, so naturally we spent a lot of time outdoors.
Times have changed, and air-conditioning is the norm. Now, we spend much more
time indoors under the comfort of air-conditioning during sunshiny summer days.

This lifestyle change has brought about
common deficiency of vitamin D in a huge portion of the population. Most of us
know that vitamin D deficiency has consequences. Without an adequate level of
it, we cannot absorb calcium which causes inadequate bone development in the
young and bone loss as we grow older. This is why milk is fortified with
vitamin D.

In addition to fortified milk, other
sources of the sunshine vitamin are oily fish (salmon, mackerel, bluefish, and
canned tuna). It is difficult to get enough vitamin D from food alone.

The natural source is sunlight, but
we have become afraid of the sun. We slather on sunscreen and avoid any exposure.
When we do this, we no longer absorb essential vitamin D. The very reason we
avoid the sun is to reduce the risk of cancer, but oddly enough, low levels of
vitamin D increases cancer rates. Low levels of the sunshine vitamin are also
linked to higher blood pressure, heart disease, and Type 1 diabetes in
children.

In addition to previously known
health issues associated with vitamin D deficiency, researchers have found a
link between vitamin D and Alzheimer’s risk. People with moderate deficiencies
of this essential vitamin have nearly a 70 percent higher risk of developing
Alzheimer’s disease. In severe deficiencies, this risk skyrockets to 122
percent.

Researchers believe that vitamin D helps
rid cells of beta-amyloid plaques, one of the hallmarks of Alzheimer’s disease.
One of the leading researchers in the study, David J. Llewellyn, University of
Exeter Medical School, said, “It seems to be that vitamin D was actually
helping to break down and take away those protein abnormalities.”

Doctor Michael Holick, Boston
University, who is an expert on vitamin D recommends stocking up on vitamin D
during the summer. He suggests five to ten minutes two or three times a week
outdoors between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. wearing minimal clothing and without
sunscreen except for the face. Sun deprived people, and breast fed infants,
should take a supplement.

Summer will soon be over, so now is
the time to stock up on the sunshine vitamin. Just remember, moderation,
moderation, moderation!

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Linda's Blog Books

Books are a print version of Linda's award-winning Blog. These books are published for the benefit of those without Internet access or who just prefer to curl up with a book rather than browsing online. If you enjoy Linda's blog posts, you might want to purchase the book for a friend or family member.

Fisher began her online journal to share her experiences with families affected by early onset dementia. Her essays provide insight into family life often from a humorous viewpoint. She writes from her experiences as a longtime Alzheimer's Association volunteer and advocate and ten years as a primary caregiver for her husband, Jim.

Early Onset Blog

Alzheimer's Anthology of Unconditional Love by L. S. Fisher

The Fisher Center for Alzheimer's Research Foundation

I have participated in a link exchange with the Fisher Center for Alzheimer's Research Foundation. They have this blog http://earlyonset.blogspot.com/ listed in their Alzheimer's blogs.

Lindsay Nason wrote about my Early Onset Blog: "I want to thank you for sharing your powerful experience and your creative suggestions with others. . . . Your blog offers a unique and personal insight into this disease, which can be such a comfort to other members of the Alzheimer's community."

Thank you, Lindsay, for your kind words and for including the Early Onset Blog on your website.